Mother of Mine!

It's for the forty four hours and forty six minutes
of labor you persevered
For the pain and anguish I saw you endure
Shouting out in anguish, as we waited for her

The sheer magnitude of your patience
as I watched your tears
Knowing that even as you pushed through
these were moments of your deepest fear
It's for staring down death without a blink
Taking needles in places I would never think

It's for never calling me names
even when I wasn't sincere
For taking my male frailty and inadequacies
and holding them secure
For giving a sense of purpose when my path was unclear
Calling me a champion when the loss was near

For that last push that brought her some air
Letting her little voice recoil in a hushed room
As if screaming, "I am here!"
My very life blood, joined with you in cell
I honor you now, I sing your song
I stand at your parade, saluting your part

For giving her life, and both of us a new start
My name, your name, my life, your life
Through the annals of time
For standing stoic in your morals
and unbending in faith

Your voice and manner unwavering winds
Never changing unlike seasonal friends
Pray tell my love what more to come
A puzzling story, I'm sure to some
I honor you now, Mother of Mine




Soneka K. Kamuhuza Copyright 2009

What's in a name? (Africa)

A friend of mine has been hounding me for about a year and a half to watch a movie called Sankofa. She insisted that I needed to watch it. She believed that my sensibilities would grasp the depth of the message meant by the film-maker. She stated that there were several people she had shown it to who didn't get it - much to her frustration.

So, after finally acquiring a copy, she handed it to me last week, just in time for the weekend. Actually, she handed it to someone else - her boss - who felt it necessary to try to hijack this shipment that was meant for me. After a few threatening phone calls, the Sankofa DVD was delivered to my office.

Not intending to have anything too heavy, we sat down to watch the Sankofa DVD Saturday night. We usually pick a light hearted movie for Saturday nights, well, as we learned, Sankofa is far from that. It is the journey of a modern day woman who returns to the past to experience slavery on a plantation. The cinematography leaves much to be desired, however, the critical components of this movie build like the crescendo of an engrossing symphony. Once started, you will be forced to chase it to its end.

The rape, abuse, physical and emotional assault that follows is reminiscent of slave movies already seen. However, Sankofa carries through it an underlying message of identity and heritage that is subtle yet loud in its depiction. It is a story told from the perspective of Africans having never lost their identity in the midst of slavery. Those who sought to carry their traditions and heritage through generations. Their strength, found in communal traditions, acts of initiation and refusal to assimilate, empowered them. What culminates, I will not reveal, as I encourage everyone to watch it for themselves.

Sankofa's underlying tone shows the calculated method with which generations of Africans systematically lost their identity and took on slave names. Sankofa displays an intimacy with Africa to which the movie Roots, alludes. It careens full speed to a cataclysmic end that can be the only conclusion to a life of sadism, death, lies, abandonment, cruelty, hatred, terrorism and despair. In the midst of this, remains this component of a name. What is in a name?

Mine is Soneka Kamuhuza. A very distinct name. Well it's unique for this hemisphere, a dime-a-dozen in Zambezi, Zambia. I once rode a bus in Zambia, somebody called out to a Soneka, and half the bus answered. That burst my bubble. See, among the Lunda, Soneka is about as common as John is to the English. In America, I'm about as unique as Barack Obama. That's my story and I'm sticking to it. In Sankofa, I realized that the allegory was in the identifiable characteristics of strong African connections being countered by a terroristic effort to break that very bond.

To be named Toby, Henry, Mark as opposed to Kwame, Tesu, Ade was the beginning of the slavery brainwashing process. In essence the most critical part of the integration process was to lose your name. The slave would be beaten until he accepted his slave name. It would be his disconnection from who he was, his acceptance into who he was to become. So for over four hundred years the perpetuation of dissolution and separation has been perfected to what is now seen in African-American culture; Jones, Yokum, Sisko, Todd, to name a few.

A generation of people exist as if adrift at sea, with no port in sight. The slave masters game plan has come to pass. The very connection that Sankofa bridles with in its energetic scenes; the volcanic aspiration of self that Sankofa pulsates, is now lost. The silent fart of a distressed identity emits slowly from the bowels of a festering cultural myopia, all held together by a society with the runs. These frequent bathroom trips only help to highlight the stench that now emits from what is left of our hard earned freedom.

Somewhere, in the midst of all this cultural atrophy, I believe Sankofa rises as if to remind the many African-Americans who remain adrift. "Look East. Look to where the sun rises each morning. Remember a land where the sun is seen first each day by your people. A land that your ancestors called home. A land where they were free. Africa, mother Africa."

It's just Salmon!

It was my wife's birthday this past Saturday and so as is tradition in our house, we celebrated the whole weekend. My daughter had a grand plan for her mother's breakfast in bed Saturday morning. So as she and I drove back from our first day of celebration Friday night, she announced that we did not have all the ingredients for the gourmet breakfast. Ever the dutiful father, I redirected and headed to the local supermarket for the much needed ingredients.

As my daughter navigated us through the store, she would occasionally grab a recognizable item and either toss it into the cart or shake her head as if disappointed. We finally found ourselves at the fish counter and she pointed triumphantly at Salmon. This was her grand ingredient, smoked Salmon. Not any type of Salmon, but the Alaskan kind. The Discovery channel, swimming upstream, being caught by bears kind, yes, that kind.

Never having been keen on Salmon as a food source, I have not purchased it. My girls on the other hand, enjoy Salmon burgers on occasion. So as we selected the Salmon, I noticed a pattern, the price. The price to weight ratio for the Salmon was extremely intriguing. It felt like I was holding a piece of paper napkin and yet the price said $8.99. Azheni's insistence on Salmon as a key ingredient swayed me to invest in this daylight robbery. In this case SuperFresh Supermarket was robbing me at night, so it was nightlight robbery.

The next morning as I helped prepare the breakfast, I discovered that I had invested in four slivers of smoked Salmon, for the grand price of $8.99. That's almost two bottles of cheap wine, a case of beer, two chickens (not Purdue), or four loaves of bread. Now for $8.99 for parts of a fish, I reckon the particular fish should have swam from Norway to Alaska, navigated its way up an electrical dam, given some fishermen directions, stopped in Canada to give a concert and then committed Harakiri in a gesture of honorable death.

I Wanna Be A Man

I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But one who can walk in the halls of my ancestors
head held high, shoulders straight, proud face,
with an enduring smile
A man whose legacy permeates the ages
whose name brings joy and respect
remembrance in stories
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But one who breaks the cycle of abuse,
neglect, pain and suffering that has become
the imprint of my yesterday
The defined steps that I once embraced
inevitable and claimed as necessary
with ugly rights of passage that have
indelibly become my swan song
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But a man that exemplifies good values, stoic morals,
emulates humility and speaks truth
A man that reviles deceit and lies, stealing and cheating,
anger and pain
One that can stand on a hill, survey his land
A man in whose legacy lives the inheritance
of a generation
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But a man with wind in his back
and pep in his step
A man whose words resonate with the delivery of saints
The verses of servants and the countenance of God
One that can hear the murmurs of Isaiah's prophecy
The lamentations of David's lyrics
A man that delivers his sermons on a podium of grace
I wanna be a man
Not just any man
But a man of value, teaming with purpose
A man whose life shouts "Glory!'
Resounding echos of success on the pages of life
One whose chapters are filled with substance
A page turner in the library of family history
I wanna be that man
Lord, make me a man

Lingerie in Saudi Arabia

I just read that women in Saudi Arabia have decided to boycott lingerie shops. One would immediately think that this was related to some religious issue. I must warn my usual readers, that we are going where no man has gone before, into the ladies department. One small step for me, a giant step for you. I must also warn you that some of you will be moving to Saudi Arabia.

Here is the declaration; "Only men can work as lingerie salesmen in Saudi Arabia." There it is, out in the open. Let's get out of the way of the mass migration. Men everywhere are packing their bags or getting ready to line up at the Saudi Arabian embassy. Stop, before you reach for your phone,or line up for a work visa; there's a catch. There is currently a huge uproar in Saudi Arabia, women are flabbergasted and embarrassed at being forced to endure this shameful experience. On my behalf I wonder how long this has been going on, and why I didn't know about it sooner.

Okay men; ever wanted to get a job at Victoria's Secret? No? Ever thought about it? All the married guys are backing away slowly. Okay if you were single and had the resolve, would you apply? I don't think there's a man's man alive who is completely comfortable in this environment, no matter how much you like lingerie (I need to be careful here). So how does this happen in a country that has not given women equal rights? Furthermore, barely allows them to show any skin in public. Lingerie being sold by men?

I know that in America there would be no discriminating against any male who applied for a job at an intimate apparel store. Yeah, right! I can imagine telling all my boys at the pool hall about how I made my quota in brassiere sales over the weekend. "Hey Bernard, have you seen the latest design in thongs? The D-cup straps are made quite hardy!" No, I don't see it. How these men have survived in a macho driven culture like Saudi Arabia is beyond me. This in a country that won't allow women to drive in public? Someone buy me a drink.

I am trying hard not to make this a religious discourse. However, I am quite confused and unable to understand the hypocrisy. So the next time you're in Victoria's Secret, feeling awkward about escorting the wife, get really involved in the process, it might come in handy in the future.

Kibaki has only one wife

I just finished watching the press conference by Kenya's President Kibaki in which he quite emphatically states that he has only one wife. As he makes his grand oratory, his wife stands very nonplussed at his side, glaring at the crowd. It is quite clear that whatever these Kenyan reporters have been saying about her husband's extra-marital affairs, is being taken very seriously in the Kibaki household.

Her chest pumps very visibly as her husband speaks. You can almost see the fumes escaping from the top of her head as she slowly stews in her anger at the audacity of the reporters.Her husband is delving into the family tree now and making it clear that his four children are the only ones sired by his loins. He reiterates that any acknowledgment otherwise, is fallacy. She glares from side to side at the crowd as if daring anyone to speak.

At the feeble end of his statement, the President invites questions. The silence is deafening. Yet even in this comedy of situations, this embarrassment of state, a brave soul speaks up and asks a question. The President's answer seems inadequate as Mrs. Kibaki questions the origins of the reporter's employ. His answer doesn't satiate her as she berates the reporters for making their lives a misery by spreading lies. She invites more questions.

The air is heavy with the anticipation of her next move. Her heaving chest continues to pump and her adrenalin builds. She threatens that not only will she sue, but informs us that she was tempted to visit said newspaper and put a hurting on the reporters. This act, she reminds us, would be much like the one she performed when she beat up the last reporter who said something about her.

Her 'blood lust' satiated, she turns to walk away with the President. As the doors open on their exit, this visibly old and angry woman, casts a very daunting shadow on the presidency of Kenya. It is quite evident that her influence is strong enough to cause such a stir, such a public humiliation of a Presidency. President Kibaki seems quite harmless compared to her. If indeed he does have children out of wedlock as well as another wife, I think that Kibaki has much to fear.

So I applaud Mr. Kibaki for single handedly dropping the stock of African Presidency by at least another twenty five notches. He and Rupiah Banda of Zambia are poised to become the next great act, much like Abbott and Costello.

Confess

I was supposed to stay respectful and calm
Not try to turn on the charm
But I couldn't
Okay, it wasn't that I couldn't
I wouldn't

See, I thought about it for a minute
How I always want to play
like I'm still in it
But the game has changed in so many ways
Folks doing things
we can't even say

That's the irony
of this life battle
Ain't too many folks
believing in being subtle
It's in your face philosophy
Yes, that's become the new policy

Boys can't be boys anymore
Seems that girls
decided to even the score
What once was petting
has gone extinct
Our sex, now foreplay I think

Girls aggressive as men
Acting dainty treated insane
The world wearing no shame
Even as a generation goes
unclaimed

So how has it come to this?
This now passionless face
that delivers a Judas kiss
With no emotion shown
Not even amongst this ecstatic throng
It all doesn't belong

Like a thief in the night
The void has come
To separate and shuck
Those that dare to be upright
From their obvious plight
I say
the void has come
To strengthen the brethren
for this final run
as they make their last dash
into heaven

We know it is time
For us to claim the song
Wait for the resounding note
of that impending gong
To those who have waited
this long
That find solace in God's apron
There can be nothing less
than to come meekly and confess


Soneka K. Kamuhuza 2009